


Talent Night

by keirajo



Series: The Love of Romance [15]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Contests, Drama, Friendship, M/M, Talent Shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keirajo/pseuds/keirajo
Summary: Swerve is having a big talent contest......…..and Whirl is set to win first place, of course, because of the prize.   However, it doesn't seem like Rodimus wants to be very helpful towards helping the mech win, because it means confronting people who may not like him and feeling very uncomfortable the whole time.





	1. Surprises Aren't Always A Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> A fun little romp after the recent drama in this series. XD

** _ Talent Night _ **

_ Chapter One: Surprises Aren’t Always a Good Thing _

The one thing about being in the medi-bay was…….._eventually_, at some point, everyone on the crew knew exactly where to find Rodimus when he wasn’t on the bridge or in Megatron’s company. Oh, sure, there were moments when the flame-colored mech might be hanging out with Drift or something, but usually if he wasn’t on captain-shift or with his sparkmate, Rodimus of Nyon could _always_ be found down in the medi-bay.

And on this particular day, everyone totally went on high alert in medi-bay when the particular person that walked in happened to just walk in looking like he was looking to cause mischief. **_Whirl_** came into medi-bay, stood directly in the main lobby area, looking around while clicking his clawed servos together in a rhythmic manner. First Aid, Rodimus and Velocity all stared at him as if a wild turbofox covered in scraplets had just wandered into the medi-bay.

“Good morning, Whirl—is there something wrong?” Velocity said, as pleasantly as she could, with First Aid nudging her forward with a servo in the center of her backstrut.

Rodimus started looking around desperately, looking for a way out, because _whatever_ Whirl was here for—he had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with _him_.

“_Oi, Rodders_………….gotta ask ya something,” Whirl said, in as even and normal a tone as he ever had, taking a few steps towards the flame-colored mech.

“_Uh. Um_,” Rodimus stammered, optics shifting beneath their blue optic glass.

“You know that talent show thing that Swerve dreamed up and all, yeah?” Whirl began, stepping forwards until he was hovering right in front of Rodimus. “So, _yeah_. My band and all, stupid Cyclonus says _‘not a chance’_—in so few words as he does. The guy doesn’t mind band performances and all, but talent contest, he says _‘not gonna happen’_, as he does.”

Velocity and First Aid looked at each other with surprise.

“Wait, **_you_** have a band, Whirl?” First Aid gasped. Then regretted saying a single word as soon as Whirl spun towards him and stared down at the small medic. With the single optic strobe, it was very difficult to gauge any sort of emotions in the wild Autobot’s gaze and he never let his field leak out in any way whatsoever.

“_Of course I do_. But I’m just the manager-type. You know………claws ain’t good for holding instruments and stuff. And this vocalizer doesn’t have the range for singing………..” the blue-grey-colored mech said with a deep sigh as he shrugged. “But _managing_, that I can do.”

“_And_……….and Cyclonus can sing? I mean, _band-kind of singing_? Not just old hymns and ballads?” Velocity asked, a weird sort of curiosity grasping her attention.

“_Oh, sure_. It lets him release some tensions he never knew he had, the weirdo,” Whirl chuckled demonically. “But now, Rodimus of Nyon—_you cunning little mech_, **_you’ve_** got a vocalizer on you. I was impressed at karaoke night. Was a shame you had to dash out like that, ‘cause ol’ Meggers had personal issues, though.”

“_Uh, okay_. So, yeah………I can sing. But you know, a lot like Cyclonus—I mostly would sing a lot of hymns and ballads with the people in Nyon. It was something that brought us together and killed the pain of living a bit, for a while,” Rodimus answered, still looking around for an exit. “I’m flattered you think I could help you win a talent contest, but honestly I’m _far too busy_ to………..” he trailed off, taking a step back.

Whirl moved one more step forwards, steepling his claws and clacking them together delightfully, pushing his faceplate closer to Rodimus’. “No, you’re not. I asked ol’ Meggers if I could _borrow you_. He said it’s fine,” the Autobot warrior chuckled, his single optic strobe pulsing lightly as he laughed.

_‘The hell……? Megatron would never say that without asking me first!’_ Rodimus thought with annoyance. “I’m sure he said you could **_ask_** me, _not_ borrow me,” he muttered, frowning at Whirl with frustration.

“Same thing,” the blue-grey mech chortled. “I asked if I could borrow your time and he said if you said _‘yes’_, he’d reschedule your bridge duties. I mean, ol’ Magnus is back on duty, so you’ve got the time to spare,” Whirl added, nodding eagerly and moving closer to Rodimus.

Ultra Magnus _had_ come back to duty several days ago. Neither he and Megatron, nor he and Rodimus, had found a chance to talk at any length yet—Magnus came back, focused on work. But he had promised to make time to speak _with the both of them_, at the same time, sometime soon—when the duty shifts would allow it. Rodimus had nodded and accepted it when the old soldier had replaced him on bridge duty that first day back. Ultra Magnus said it had to be discussed by all three of them, the awkward situation caused by the virus outbreak.

“Whirl, if I can ask…………before you steal my very talented medical assistant………**_why_** do you want your band to participate in the talent contest?” First Aid asked, trying to draw the crazy old Autobot’s attention away from Rodimus.

“The five months of free Engex, of course,” Whirl responded, turning back to the small CMO of the ship.

“You know that Swerve’s not going to give you _unlimited_ Engex, right? I mean, if you won, he’d be out of business in two weeks,” First Aid said, tilting his head and sounding like he was frowning beneath his medical faceplate. “And I’d likely have a permanent patient here in the medi-bay—I’d _really_ like to avoid that.”

“_Oh, of course……..**of course**!_ But _any _free Engex is still free Engex! I don’t care if there’s a limit to like five glasses a night, that’s fine………._it’s still free_!” Whirl laughed happily, clicking his clawed servos together again with glee. Then he turned back to Rodimus, who had finally been backed against the wall and had nowhere to run to anymore—without, like, transforming and running Whirl down. “Now, dear………….._dear Rodders_………..let’s make music and win a contest, right?” He said, pressing his faceplate back up to the flame-colored mech’s.

“I don’t even know what kind of songs your band sings………” Rodimus said, frowning deeply and patting the wall behind him, as if searching for secret door switches.

“_Oh_. Cyclonus sings grungy, angsty things—he says it purges him of all those deep, dark emotions he’d rather not have around little Tailgate anymore. Can’t say I blame him, I know the little dude’s all _‘share everything’_ with me, but really…….there are some things mechs just _can’t_ share with each other,” Whirl answered, backing away a few millimeters and twirled a servo dismissively. “But I don’t want to make you sing _that stuff_. Power ballads, now **_that _**is where it’s at!” He giggled gleefully, tapping his claws together and pushing back towards the flame-colored mech once more. “Loud, Spark-racing, energetic music is what we need and what you can _absolutely_, without a doubt, **_do_**.”

“And what do **_I_** get out of this?” Rodimus asked, frowning even more.

“Why…………_free Engex_, Rodders!” Whirl said, excitedly, his optic strobe pulsing lightly.

“Oh, see, look………_I don’t drink anymore_. I don’t have a reason to,” Rodimus answered, finally taking the courage to grab Whirl’s shoulders and pushing him back a bit. “Sorry, Whirl……….._I can’t_. There’s _nothing_ in it for me………….”

Whirl gave a deep sigh and stepped back willingly, after the initial push, then folded his arms across his chest. “What if I told you that ol’ Megger’s is writing the lyrics?” The Autobot said, very seriously.

“_No way_. He _doesn’t _do things like that,” Rodimus retorted.

“_But he is_. You can ask him. I told him not to worry about the music part, just write us a powerful song—I mean, the mech writes poetry and what’s a song anyways? A poem with repetitive lines set to music,” the Autobot warrior chuckled softly. “I even said, don’t worry about the repetitive lines, that’s what Bluestreak’s for. _He’s_ the musical talent—he’ll take Megatron’s poem and set it to music properly, find the lines to put as a chorus and all that.”

“_Can’t_,” Rodimus said, suddenly having the space for it and running away. He dashed out of medi-bay looking like he was going to cry the moment Whirl mentioned another particular band member’s name.

* * * * *

Rodimus hoped Drift wasn’t busy, because he needed to hang out with someone who wasn’t Megatron right now. _Bluestreak_ was in Whirl’s band? Who else was in the band that was amongst the group who hated him? Whirl expected him to walk right in and “_have fun_” with them? 

_‘Oh, Primus……….it’s probably **Riptide**, I know he likes to hang out and have fun like that. It’s probably……….**all of them**,’_ Rodimus thought, standing outside the door to Ratchet and Drift’s hab suite, feeling even sadder than ever.

There were a group of Autobots who came with him, from some of Optimus Prime’s old military units. Brawn, Huffer, Bluestreak, Grapple, Hoist, Hound and Inferno. It was later known that a couple had come at Prowl’s request more than an individual decision…………not to mention a few of the crew tried to not have Bluestreak on the ship claiming “_Rodimus thinks you look like Prowl_” as their reasoning. They were all top of Getaway’s list of mutineers.

Granted, Whirl’s band probably wasn’t _that big_……….and if they had Cyclonus as their usual singer and Whirl as their manager, then probably Brawn and Huffer weren’t in the band. Likely _not_ Hoist either. The virus outbreak had made things a little better between Hound and himself, but Hound was becoming very devoted to his position as Piloting Operations Manager, so _he_ probably wasn’t in the band either. Bluestreak clearly was. Rodimus could see Inferno in the band, too, he always loved music—was often humming and singing as he worked. Maybe Grapple, too. Still, that placed three people maybe in that band who could care less about Rodimus whatsoever.

“Standing there waiting to announce yourself isn’t going to do any good, come on in,” Ratchet grunted, opening the door. “Your field was loud enough with worry. What’s wrong?” The old medic responded, offering the flame-colored mech a seat. “Drift is out and about, practicing some swordwork with Cyclonus.”

“_Oh_. Sorry to be a bother then,” Rodimus sighed, accepting the small glass of med-grade Energon from the old Autobot medic. “Look, Whirl just asked me to help his band in that talent thing that Swerve’s doing to promote his bar……..but, like, he told me Bluestreak’s in it and I know that it would wreck things, as I know how he feels about me and stuff.”

“Would you _want_ to go and sing in Whirl’s little band? Isn’t _that_ the important thing here?” Ratchet said, taking a seat across the room and drinking some of the med-grade directly from the container. “Look, these mechs and femmes could’ve stayed behind instead of go on your victory lap. Yeah, they may not like you or Megatron as people, but they like the ship and the camaraderie here. I think you need to get out and _get to know the crew_. Keeping your distance because of the past—their past, your past, our crew’s past—is just detrimental to us remaining a good crew. I think the talent show is also Swerve’s way of building some camaraderie—just like Mirage has karaoke night and open mic night.”

Rodimus looked over at Ratchet in surprise—that very thought had _never_ occurred to him! He put the glass down on an end table near him and pulled his pedes up to the edge of the seat of the chair and hugged his knees.

“I really _am_ the worst ever, Ratchet. I’m only good to anyone in a crisis,” the flame-colored mech mumbled, sadly.

“You grew up in a crisis. _Crisis is all you’ve ever known_,” Ratchet said, a low tone of kindness in his rough old voice. “Everyone complains about their lot in life. You’ve got those, like Getaway, who complain about being constructed cold and blame everyone around him for the life he should have had—he was extremely jealous of you simply because you were forged and he felt that because of that, you were gifted with _a glorious life_. If Getaway actually understood what you grew up with and what you suffered, maybe he could’ve been a bit more decent to you.”

“I doubt that,” Rodimus muttered.

Ratchet took another sip of his med-grade and gave a wry little chuckle. “_Yeah_, you’re probably right. Getaway had too much darkness festering inside of him to appreciate the value of anyone who could truly be a friend,” the old medic grunted. “Tell me, Rodimus—do you think _I’ve_ ever treated you unfairly?” He asked, carefully.

Rodimus peeked up, looking to see if this question were a test of some sort. He uncurled his legs and put his pedes back on the floor, placing his servos to the edges of the seat by his hips. “_Nah_. You, out of everyone I’ve ever known………..Autobots, Wreckers and even Decepticons…………_you’ve_ always been honest with me. Even when the honesty kind of hurts. I appreciate it, even when it _does hurt_,” Rodimus said, giving the old Autobot medic a wry smile. “That’s why I really, more than even Ultra Magnus, wanted _you_ to come with me. Besides Drift, you were the very first person I asked—how ironic **_that_** is, looking at it now,” the flame-colored mech chuckled softly. 

“Look, if I had known that you hadn’t known about our relationship—I might’ve mentioned it to you ages ago,” Ratchet grunted, setting his cannister down and folding his arms over his chestplate. “I’m not the type to advertise or walk around all mushy. I told Drift not to make a big deal about things either, but given you were friends, I really thought he might have actually told you.” Then Ratchet got up, took Rodimus’ glass with a light pat on the shoulder and put the glass and his can on a table to deal with later for cleanup. “Drift has issues, too…….the circuit-speeders damaged a lot more in him than he realizes. I’m trying not to blame him for his screw-ups, as a way of helping him get better, but he does have a kind of memory loss that’s rare in our kind. It may even be that he _actually thought_ he’d told you about the two of us, once, even though he hadn’t,” the old medic explained quietly.

“Random memory loss?” Rodimus asked, looking up at Ratchet as he paced a little bit around the room.

“_Yeah_. Been reading up on some things, have you?” The old Autobot medic chuckled, glancing over at the flame-colored mech. “As simply as it states, those who develop this condition can lose any memory at random, at any time. The Earth humans have an almost similar condition, it is a little close to their Alzheimer’s condition, but not quite the same—due to the way our brains are designed compared to theirs.” Then the red-and-white mech sat back down and crossed one leg over the other. “But there are memories he holds to and won’t let this condition take. _Me_, of course………..and _you_. You were there when he had awoken after the Chaos incident, _the first person he saw_—and I admit, I’m quite curious as to _why_?”

“_Oh_. I mean, look—I was right there when he stabbed himself to stop being taken over by the creature that was absorbing all Decepticons’ programming. He believed himself to be an Autobot and refused to let himself be used as a tool against us. It was a little traumatic and I think it stunned me enough that I was worried enough about him to see if he was okay, once it was all over,” Rodimus said, softly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “There were a lot of injured………you and all the medics were super-busy and had to triage _thousands_. I figured the least I could do was keep him company and comfortable until a medic could get to him, _if they would_.”

“Did you think they’d avoid him, simply because he used to be a Decepticon?” Ratchet asked, curiously. As Rodimus told this small story, he realized that the flame-colored mech was following that deeply buried medical coding within him to try and do what he could to help Drift—just as he’d tried for years to help those in Nyon.

“_Um, yeah_………..I kinda did, actually. I _didn’t_ know about you two, or else I would’ve realized you’d’ve eventually gotten to him yourself,” the flame-colored mech sighed softly. “I just tried to do what I could to not let him die, you know? I wasn’t an Autobot to begin with, either…………remember?”

So, Rodimus thought one outcast could possibly befriend another outcast. His medical coding, probably even his dermal sensor net, drew him to Drift—an injured mech that no one was treating and looked like no one would get to any time soon. Ratchet remembered what Drift told him about the situation, as well—though the white-and-grey mech had been half-out-of-it, when he’d seen Rodimus attending him………..he thought he was being embraced by flames. That he’d seen _a fiery angel_. Ratchet chided him for being sappy and Drift argued about the old medic not even having a romantic bone in his body.

“I appreciate that you did all of that, Rodimus,” Ratchet answered, smiling at the flame-colored mech. “_Personally_, I appreciate you extending a servo of friendship to Drift and giving him a hope to keep living. You, more than I, gave him that desire to go on. Look, whatever our relationship was back then—it really was mostly fragging and not all that romantic or devoted to each other—_our relationship didn’t save him_. **_You_** are the one who saved him,” the red-and-white mech said, very firmly.

Rodimus looked over at Ratchet with a look on his face that was a mix of surprise and happiness. Then the flame-colored mech drew his legs up again, to hug his knees, and he smiled, burying his faceplate in his knee-joints. His Spark flared with joy that he was important to someone, that he had really saved a life that actually mattered. A life that didn’t just matter to him, but a life that mattered to others.

* * * * *

Rodimus tossed and turned, but he couldn’t seem to relax. “Hey, Megs…….how much longer you gonna be up?” He complained, pulling the blanket completely over him and muffled the sound of his voice.

“Just another few moments, Rodimus,” the familiar, deep voice responded. “You could talk to me about it, if you’d like?” Megatron added.

“I’ve been bugging you too much with my stupidisms. _I just don’t wanna…………I dunno………_..” Rodimus sighed, pulling the pillow over his faceplate and muffled his voice even more.

Suddenly, Rodimus felt Megatron’s familiar EM field close to him and felt the warmth of his frame nearby, as well as hearing the familiar resplendent hum of the older mech’s systems. A gentle servo laid lightly on his head and Rodimus was impressed the servo found his head under the blankets and the pillow.

“_Rodimus_. Clearly things are bothering you. It might help to talk about them?” Megatron’s voice said, quietly. “Is it about me making a poem for Whirl’s band turn into a song? Or that I recommended asking you?”

“_Yeah, but no…………not really._ I know Bluestreak’s also in the band and that’s…………_that’s _not going to be a good fit for me,” Rodimus sighed, pulling the pillow away from his faceplate and pushing the blanket down to his shoulders. “You’re _really_ doing that?” He asked, curiously, looking up into his older lover’s faded crimson optics.

“It sounded amusing and it might be a test of my lyrical skills,” Megatron chuckled, warmly, stroking the flame-colored mech’s helm with gentleness. “Whirl asked for something sappy, but with powerful words. Since I’ve heard you singing those Earth power ballads a lot, I know the general concept behind them.”

Rodimus rubbed his cheek against Megatron’s servo, pulling it down to kiss the palm lovingly. “I bet you can do something _awesome_,” he murmured, holding the palm of his lover’s servo against the side of his faceplate and absorbing the warmth of the touch, plus swirling his field around Megatron’s very protective and responsive one. “And before you climb up here with me, I _don’t_ want interfacing tonight, big guy……….” the flame-colored mech murmured softly.

“I can tell. You don’t have much enthusiasm at all today, it wouldn’t make any kind of interfacing very pleasant,” Megatron responded, pulling back the two layers of blankets and trying to fit himself up there with his younger lover. Then he pulled Rodimus against him with one arm and reached with his other servo to pull the blankets up above them both. “The talent contest isn’t for three more weeks. Why don’t you think about it for a couple of days before completely turning Whirl down? Why not talk with Cyclonus and see what he usually does with the band and everything?”

“_Maybe_,” Rodimus murmured, snuggling back against his older lover and letting himself drift into recharge. It felt like rest cycle went too quickly and when Rodimus woke up, he could still feel Megatron’s systems in recharge against him. He checked his internal chronometer and messages on his HUD—he slept his usual amount of time and normally he’d whine about wanting more. But, for some odd reason, he felt very vividly awake right now. The flame-colored mech turned around in Megatron’s arms and snuggled against his lover’s chestplating, burying his faceplate in the bulkier mech’s neck fairing.

The older grey-colored mech’s embrace went from loose to wrapping around the slender flame-colored frame a bit more snugly. “You feel very awake, Rodimus—didn’t you recharge properly?” The deep voice asked as a light kiss planted on the top of the red-colored helm.

“Yeah, I mean _no_……whatever. I slept fine. _I dunno_. I keep bringing more and more worries into my head every single day,” the younger mech said with a sigh. His systems began to clock a little faster and his engines revved up a little. Of course, **_now_** he was getting horny………….

Megatron chuckled lightly, feeling the sudden sexual tension in his younger lover’s frame. “Let me help you forget about that for a little bit. We have enough time for a quick frag and a shower before I head up to the bridge and you go to the medi-bay,” the older mech responded, gently rolling Rodimus beneath him and beginning to rain kisses all over his faceplate.

Rodimus really didn’t mind doing any of that at all. He was feeling rather refreshed when they parted ways outside of their hab suite and he hummed lightly to himself as he walked down towards the medi-bay.

“You seem quite lively this morning, Rodimus,” First Aid chuckled, walking past him over to his public desk in the main area.

“Yeah, I recharged well last night. Don’t know why, though. Maybe I was just tired enough to not have to work to get to recharge—or ask for Megatron to exhaust me,” the flame-colored mech responded with a smile.

First Aid leaned against the palm of his servo, as he propped it up on his desk. “Maybe something is finally right _in here_,” he said, pointing to Rodimus’ chest. “Maybe you’ve finally realized we’re your new _‘family’_—to replace the ghosts that have haunted you since Nyon burned?” The small CMO added.

“Well, I think I still have issues with some people, but _maybe_ it’s close enough,” Rodimus responded, grinning down at the red-and-white mech fondly. “So, what are we going to do, today?”

“I thought I’d have you assist Velocity again, today—she has a few patients to see on her schedule and you can do the prep for her. Get her the datapads she needs, ask the patients the general inquiries about their status—those sorts of things,” First Aid chuckled, warmly.

“Sounds good,” Rodimus said with a grin.


	2. A Talk or Two or Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus talks to people and starts to find his way.

_ Chapter Two: A Talk or Two or Three _

“Welcome,” Ultra Magnus said, opening his hab suite door and letting Megatron and Rodimus come inside.

Rodimus had never actually been inside Ultra Magnus’ hab suite. He peeked around, trying not to look like he was looking at everything, but it was a lot more “_homely_” than Megatron’s old hab suite used to be—and for some reason Rodimus always thought it would be as plain as Megatron’s was! There was a tall inset bookshelf behind the desk along the back wall of the hab suite. It was packed edge-to-edge with books and datapads. The desk itself looked neat and tidy, as Rodimus expected, but had a neat little plasma light on it. The soft pulse and swirl of red-magenta plasma in the clear liquid seemed very soothing and eye-catching. The berth was the plainest thing in the entire room, sitting in a far corner, with only a small pillow at the head-end of it………..it was the larger size, looking like it would suit Magnus in his full armour, rather than being more suitable to Minimus Ambus.

That wasn’t surprising though, he’d have had it since the start of the voyage. Back then, he remained in his armour at all times. And, even now, if Magnus chose to recharge without his armour, he wouldn’t bother changing the size of the berth.

The one thing that _didn’t_ fit such a tidy, organized space was the clearly collapsible table in the center of the room with a few temporary chairs set around it. Ultra Magnus had probably borrowed some temporary furniture from somewhere so the three of them could talk comfortably. That showed that the old Autobot warrior was clearly not a mech who often hosted company.

“Have a seat, I’ll pour some Engex,” the older warrior mech responded, walking to a cabinet in another of the corners.

It was a very nice, functional cabinet—it had temperature-controlled storage for things in the top half of the unit, while the lower half of the unit was simply a utility area that held glasses and plates.

“Magnus, I don’t drink anymore, okay? Do you just have low-grade Energon or something?” Rodimus asked.

“I know you don’t, Rodimus—it’s some very light Engex, more for conversation value than fueling,” Ultra Magnus responded, turning a smile at the younger mech as he and Megatron sat down at the table.

“_Okay_,” the flame-colored mech murmured, knowing that Megatron occasionally made him drink light Engex with him more or less for the same purpose.

Ultra Magnus brought a small flask, three glasses and a plate of energel snacks, setting it all on the table before pouring some of the light Engex for the two guests and himself. Then he sat down and relaxed himself at the table.

“So, first—_Megatron_. You have been a good friend to me, we have many things in common and it’s rare that I find someone who shares my interests. I appreciate the things you’ve spoken to me about, since you’ve come aboard,” the old Autobot soldier responded, looking directly at the grey-colored mech. “I know how much you feel I could live without the Magnus Armour, but I somewhat feel that all this time…….._it has truly become who I am_. Minimus Ambus shall always be my identity, but Ultra Magnus is everything I aspire to—so, I believe the armour has become a very important part of everything that I am.”

Megatron smiled and leaned against his palm in a relaxed manner. “That is quite well put. I understand what you mean by it—just never forget, _the armour_ doesn’t make you a great mech, _the Spark inside of you_ is what does so,” the former Decepticon Leader said, smiling kindly at the red-white-blue mech and pointing to his chest.

“_True_. That is something I shall _never_ forget. I truly hope I can continue to live up to the ideals of the true Ultra Magnus, whose legacy has inspired me to become great on my own pedes,” Ultra Magnus said, folding his servos on the table in front of him. “Though I regret what Tyrest had done, I respect a great many of the laws he coded and that he gave me a great opportunity to become who I truly am deep within. Though I was born a loadbearer, with great strength beyond my small stature, many would look at me and dismiss me almost immediately—the armour has given me the opportunity to truly seize who I am, deep within my Spark. Everything that I have experienced in my long life—in the armour or not—has become the foundation of all that I am and all that I may yet be.”

Rodimus looked down into the glass of light Engex in his servos and smiled softly to himself. Magnus had said something similar to him that day in the medi-bay. _He understood it_………crafting a new identity to live the life that one truly wanted. But it was **_more _**than that………it was growing and accepting the past. Accepting the past of who you were and preparing the future of who you wanted to become.

“Now, _Rodimus_—I think this is the hardest of two admissions that I could ever come to saying,” the old soldier chuckled. “As the viral state may have pointed out in a very rough way…….._yes, it **is** true_. I cannot say that I _love _you—this is _not_ a love confession of any sort, I promise you that. But I _do_ like you and I have come to respect you and…………._in some ways_………..I have come to admire you as well.”

“It’s _lust_, right? At least, that’s what I read in your field………..” the flame-colored mech trailed off, tapping the rim of the glass in his servos a bit nervously.

“It is very much _‘lust’_. You have a very beautiful frame, Rodimus—the lines and aesthetics of your frame are sheer poetry,” Ultra Magnus said, his tone very serious. He was not merely saying the words in jest or to subtly diffuse an awkward conversation. “And there are times I have wished I could take you to berth as well, to have seen what you were like when your passion was unleashed. It is a strange thing to admit, but I feel much better now that I have said it out loud to you.”

“But you knew all the rumours about me, why didn’t you……..?” Rodimus began, gulping down the last of the light Engex in his glass and grabbing an energel snack and nibbling on it anxiously.

“I think I was afraid of the rumours that may have started if I did so. I was still trying to maintain the idea of who I should be for most of the time I was on the ship. Then, after my identity as Minimus Ambus had been revealed—there was great hesitation that I had on many things after that,” Ultra Magnus answered, shaking his head gently. “And soon after my return, events happened and Megatron had come aboard. Everything on the ship had become very awkward. I hope you’ll forgive me for saying it, or hold back on calling me a sentimental fool………..but when I watched the interactions that you and Megatron had with one another, I believe I saw a bond forming between you both.”

“_Ah-ha-ha_………….what have you been drinking? Nightmare Fuel?” Rodimus laughed, tossing back his head and then shaking it with disbelief.

“_No_. I think Magnus is right,” Megatron said, a light chuckle toning his deep voice. He reached over and clasped one of the flame-colored mech’s servos. “Your fire when you’d try to argue against me over even the smallest things, the fact that I snapped back at you………..the fact that I couldn’t keep my cool around you and I am rather well-known for being able to stay calm in almost any situation. You got under my plating and Primus help me, you were **_glorious_** for that.” The grey-colored mech brought Rodimus’ yellow servo to his lips and kissed the knuckle-joints tenderly. “You were also the one I thought about the most every time I looked into the skies, trapped in the alternative universe, on the Functionist Cybertron. However, it took me seeing you quietly emotional in a dark movie theater, watching a silly little romantic-comedy…….that was when I realized the truth of how I felt about you. How I could be **_allowed_** to feel about you.”

“I was well aware of Megatron’s interests and the way he acted, both as the Decepticon Leader and as a mech who was seeking some sort of redemption for the dark path his life took,” Ultra Magnus said, looking between the two lovers and smiling encouragingly at them. “I saw him often snap back at you, even while he easily could control himself over any of the other antics of the crew, including Whirl—_that_ alone told me that he had an interest in you that even he had not yet realized.” Then the red-white-blue mech reached over and took their clasped servos, placing them between both of his. “As I said before, I’ve lived a long life both in and out of the armour. And I have known many mechs and femmes and other beings in my lifetime. A bond formed between the two of you and I had hoped the two of you really would have realized it before the incident with Getaway. I hoped you would finally get it when we were trapped between death and destruction on Necroworld. And I regretted not pushing you two together a bit harder when it all fell apart on the Functionist Cybertron and Megatron was left behind.”

“No, _I mean_………I didn’t like Megatron then. I really wanted _Drift_……….” Rodimus murmured, gazing down at Ultra Magnus holding their servos together.

“You have an extremely compassionate Spark, Rodimus, and have always been so easily hurt. You wanted Drift’s _friendship_ back, I’m fairly certain you were not expecting anything more than that, even if you were convincing yourself that Drift was the mech you wanted,” Magnus said, holding Rodimus’ gaze very firmly with his own. “You hold onto things tightly and it is painful to watch when you lose them—I am actually grateful I did **_not_** have to see you exile Drift from the ship. This is the other reason I wanted to speak with you both—not just to apologize for hurting Rodimus in the viral incident, but to explain things to you both, very honestly.”

“Thank you for being my friend, Ultra Magnus,” Megatron said, smiling over at the old Autobot soldier.

“Thank you for being my friend, Megatron,” Ultra Magnus responded, smiling back at him. “And, Rodimus, know that if Megatron _ever_ screws up in your relationship together, _I really will kill him_.”

“_Magnussssssss!!!_” Rodimus hissed, his faceplate flaring pink with embarrassment.

* * * * *

The next time an unexpected person walked into the medi-bay, Rodimus was busy sorting out patient datapads for the checkups that day. Organizing them into piles based on which of the medical staff of the day would take a look at those particular patients. The flame-colored mech was the only one in the main area and he didn’t even glance up as he heard the door open and close.

“Good afternoon, what can we do for you?” Rodimus said, automatically, making a tally of the datapads in each pile and then straightened up and looked at who walked in. “_Oh, Smokescreen_. Let me see who your appointment’s………..” he began, quickly looking back down at the desk and moving a servo towards his neat piles of datapads.

“I’m not here for an appointment, Rodimus…….._I’m here to talk to you_,” the red-and-blue mech responded, walking over to one of the lobby seats and sitting down in it.

“_Ah_. Look, I promise……….I’m not going to take up Whirl’s offer, okay? I don’t want you guys to feel uncomfortable with me there……..” Rodimus said, still not looking over at the mech and staring at his neat piles of datapads.

“**_I_** was the one who made the recommendation to Whirl, you know,” Smokescreen said, his voice firm and even.

Rodimus stiffened up with surprise, but he still hadn’t turned to look at the former Autobot special ops officer.

“As soon as Cyclonus refused to sing in the talent show, I asked Whirl if he’d consider a one-time change of our regular band’s sets. A talent show _isn’t _the place for angst and dirty metal rock. You want _energy_, because you want to keep the judges’ attentions—_you need power rock_,” Smokescreen said, explaining everything and then he leaned forwards and placed his elbow-joints on his knee-joints. “I’ve watched you singing karaoke every so often in _Visages_, you have a great voice, Rodimus—and you’d be absolutely perfect for energetic rock music.”

“I still can’t believe Cyclonus is in a band,” Rodimus chuckled, reaching one arm across his chest to clasp the opposite upper arm a bit nervously.

Smokescreen noticed the nervous gesture and remembered what Whirl told him—that Rodimus was actually very sensitive and don’t try any sudden surprise or scare tactics. It seemed strange to think that the flame-colored Autobot was really like that, given the way he acted ever since he became an Autobot, but if Smokescreen had learned anything on this ship over the years—practically _everyone _was hiding something deep within them. Hot Rod of Nyon was hiding nervousness and anxiety with a devil-may-care attitude.

“Strangely, the band was Cyclonus’ idea and Whirl absolutely jumped on it. Before you started coming to karaoke night more regularly, Cyclonus _usually_ dominated karaoke night,” Smokescreen chuckled warmly.

Trying to picture **_that_** made Rodimus laugh. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess lots of things happened on the ship I never knew about. Have you guys been a band long?” He asked, finally turning around the look at the former ops officer.

“Well, we first started trying the band thing right around…….._uh, well_. **_Yeah_**. We weren’t in it long before all that happened,” the blue-and-red mech answered, a wry chuckle toning his voice. “But after everything happened and stuff, we gave it another shot and it worked. It’s true, we’re a ship of the worst matched mechs and femmes in the universe, but I think we can’t really be annoyed or frustrated with one another anymore. We saw where hate led us once and I don’t think we should try that path again.”

“Hate and jealousy lead to _war_—and Cybertronians faced millions of years of war. Yeah, let’s not do **_that_** again,” Rodimus sighed, leaning against the edge of the desk. “_Um_, so who else is in the band?”

“Just the general five. Whirl’s a good manager, so _he’s_ six. Cyclonus generally sings. I play bass and write the songs. Riptide drums, he is _really good_ at banging on things. Anode plays lead guitar for us and Nickel, well she is the best keyboardist I’ve ever seen in my life,” Smokescreen laughed, leaning back into the chair. “Must be her doctor’s servos,” he added with a grin.

“_Oh_. Is **_that_** what she does? I rarely see her around anymore—thought she’d be in the medi-bay all the time with everyone, but she’s not,” Rodimus said, quietly, looking at a space on the floor very intently.

“She does graveyard shift,” a new voice said, entering the main lobby area. “She actually said she prefers it that way. She actually told me that we’re a _bunch of weirdoes_ and she would rather take her time to get to know us than to jump right in as she did with the DJD or the Scavengers.”

First Aid walked over and glanced at the datapads on the desk, picking up the stack with his own patients’ data on them.

“She’s _not_ wrong,” Smokescreen laughed warmly. “We **_are_** a bunch of misfits and weirdoes.”

“If anything’s true, _that’s true_,” Rodimus chuckled softly. “_Um_, Smokescreen……….maybe I can come and watch you guys practice then? I don’t know if I feel like it yet, but I can at least see what I’m getting into.”

“Hey, it’s a start,” the blue-and-red mech said, standing up and heading out of the medi-bay with a wave.

* * * * *

“I don’t know, Drift………..what do you think?” Rodimus asked, moving around in the paces of the battle practice kata. To observers of the two mechs down in the training room, it might look like they were dancing. Every move was careful and controlled.

“The one thing I’ve _always_ known about you, Rodimus……….” Drift began, his servo coming close to Rodimus’ audial in the strike-motion, then he paced back smoothly and around in the kata. He paused and incycled a deep breath. “The thing I’ve always known about you is that _you are drawn to people_. Singing in a band for a talent contest seems like it would be perfect for your personality.”

Rodimus twisted his frame and twirled on a pede-tip, his arms moving in an arc that looked like a dance rather than something that could actually be an attack under other circumstances.

“Ratchet said I need to get out and get to know everyone on the crew—not just knowing them as names on a list of the crew manifest,” the flame-colored mech responded, swiveling his frame to avoid a leg arc to his lower back from the former Decepticon soldier.

“I think it’s a good idea. We’ve all tried…….**_oof_**!” Drift grunted as the palm of Rodimus’ servo hit the back of his left shoulder. “Well, we’ve all stuck to what’s known and familiar to us……..when, really, we should all get to know one another—to be a real crew of comrades.”

“Is it too difficult for you to talk and spar at the same time, my amica?” Rodimus chuckled, blocking the grey-and-white mech’s arm-whip with his own forearm.

“Just a little. I need to hold myself back after all,” Drift chuckled softly. “But why don’t we take a break, _mmmm_?”

“I _suppose_, you oldmech,” the flame-colored mech laughed, relaxing and plopping down onto the floor. “I think something like that is going to take tons of time, though.”

“I think we’ve got that, too. A new universe………….no Cybertronian rules to bind us. Time will give us everything we need to get to know each other, as long as we **_try_**,” the swordsmech responded as he also sat down and crossed his legs and relaxed.

“_Yeah_, there’s all that. I have a hard time getting motivated because I’m kinda scared of what people think of me, really,” Rodimus murmured, scooting over next to Drift and leaning on his shoulder.

“I know, dear-spark,” Drift murmured softly. He reached and arm up and wrapped it around the slender frame of his best friend.

“_Hey, you_…………tell me how you met Ratchet and all. I have a feeling that’s going to be some kind of story,” Rodimus giggled, snuggling closer to his _amica endura_.

The former Decepticon soldier chuckled and began to tell the story of how he met Ratchet and how drawn together they were over the centuries, each time they met. Rodimus asked a bunch of questions—asked for some of the _really juicy_ bits. The flame-colored mech actually had the guts to ask for a few really interesting interfacing techniques as well. Drift laughed, shared one fun technique and then they got up and headed their separate ways, back to their own hab suites.

“_Oh_, hey Megs—you’re back early today!” Rodimus laughed as he saw his sparkmate settled on the couch and working on some writing on a datapad, with a stylus. He sauntered over to the couch and plopped down on it and peered at the datapad. “You have very nice handwriting, Megs.”

“You seem rather energetic today, my little flame,” Megatron responded, leaning down and kissing the top of his lover’s helm fondly.

“Oh, _very_. Datapad down, oldmech………I’m gonna compromise your time for a few hours,” the flame-colored mech giggled.

A sly grin crept across Megatron’s faceplate. How could he _ever_ turn down such an opportunity when Rodimus was actually pretty much initiating it? He saved what he was working on and set the datapad down onto the end table next to the couch. As soon as he had done so, Rodimus climbed into his lap and they began kissing enthusiastically. The grey-colored mech slid a servo around to stroke the sunbright yellow spoiler fins and another down to caress his younger lover’s groinplating.

Rodimus shifted his hips and purred deep in his vocalizer with pleasure. His engines revved just a little faster and his Spark began spinning rapidly as his charge started building deep within his frame. He started feeling hotter and hotter, like he might explode at any moment. Like **_fire_**……….he felt like fire when Megatron touched him and kissed him………..his frame felt engulfed with flames.

Rodimus arched his back, keening in a high-tone that could barely be heard, as Megatron’s digits pushed through the lips of his valve. Then he began mewling with pleasure when the thick digits began moving, finding the nodes trying to gather charge within him, brushing them and teasing them and pushing deeper. Megatron leaned forwards, lips brushing sensitive neck-cabling and nipping gently with his fangs.

Charge began building fast in both of their frames, neither of them would last much longer at this point. Even as Megatron lowered them both to the floor and merged their frames, as they began to both climb higher and higher to that overload they were both seeking, Rodimus had one thought in his head.

_It was **right**._

_ Everything, for all of them now, it was all **so right**._

After they came down from their interfacing high, Rodimus pulled Megatron’ head down for a light kiss.

“Did you enjoy it?” Megatron chuckled, warmly, placing another light kiss on the damp forehead.

“_Always_, my darling oldmech,” the flame-colored Autobot chuckled lightly. “Before we take it to the berth for more fun tonight, I want to tell you something, Megatron………….”

Megatron smiled at him, sitting up and pulling the flame-colored mech into his arms. Rodimus snuggled against his bulky older lover, listening to the spin of his Spark and the rapid humming of the cooling fans deep within the frame.

“_I want my flames back_,” Rodimus murmured, nuzzling into Megatron’s neck and purring softly with a desire for more tonight. “You make me burn and blaze brighter, Megatron. I wouldn’t be here—_I wouldn’t be becoming what I’ve always wanted to be_, deep in my Spark—without you.”

“Then I am proud to have the opportunity to do so,” the former warlord murmured, leaning his head down against Rodimus. His Spark spun faster in his own chest—Rodimus _wanted his flames back_ and that meant he was finally ready to accept that flames were not punishment, but rebirth. “And you are the savior of my own Spark, Rodimus. Without you—without the idea of you in my life—I would _never _be back here. I fought to get back to you.”

“_Flatterer_,” the flame-colored mech purred softly as Megatron stood up, holding the younger mech in his arms. “_Silver-tongued devil_,” he giggled.

“Well, this _‘silver tongue’_ definitely wants to do something _‘devilish’_ right now, that is certain,” the grey-colored mech chuckled, laying Rodimus on the berth.

“_Bring it_, you oldmech—show me your skills,” the flame-colored mech laughed, grinning up at his lover and splaying his frame in one of the most erotic of positions he could think of.

Megatron stifled a chuckled, then tossed his head back to roar with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously, SERIOUSLY forgot Nickel was amongst the crew all this time...……..until I was browsing through volume 4 of "Lost Light" the other day trying to see who was amongst the crew. XD


	3. Voice of Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talent night is finally here!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen a lot of bands in concert...……….but I was thinking of John Flansburgh from They Might Be Giants during the performance--for an older guy, he was seriously jumping and moving all over the stage, while everyone else played their instruments diligently. *chuckle*

_ Chapter Three: Voice of Passion _

Rodimus listened to the band play the music for the song as he read along with Bluestreak’s revamp of Megatron’s poem into song lyrics. He tapped his right pede lightly on the floor, keeping the rhythm and mouthing the lyrics as he tried to get the timing and everything right. Whirl’s little band was _great_—they all worked together pretty amazingly.

“You really **_are_** normally a part of this?” The flame-colored mech asked, looking up at Cyclonus, who was standing behind his chair.

“_Indeed_. It is rather freeing to be able to pour your Spark out into a song. It relieves stress, trust me,” the stern purple-and-grey aerial mech responded, giving a ghost of something that may even be a smile.

“And you really _don’t _want to do this with them?” Rodimus asked, this time his pedes were both tapping—and not with the rhythm of the song, but with a bit of nervousness.

“I do _not_ sing to win prizes,” Cyclonus said, firmly. “I sing because it is what my Spark desires. You may do as you wish, but I believe Whirl is correct when he says that this type of song is something perfect for you to sing.”

Whirl stopped the band, lectured them for like five minutes about nothing and had them shaking their heads and rolling their optics at their manager. Bluestreak made a very vital complaint and Nickel threw her empty can of Energon right at Whirl’s singular optic strobe, nailing the throw perfectly. Rodimus had to give a chuckle of fondness at the sight—everything he knew about Whirl from the past would normally have shown him to be going ballistic by now, but he was clearly into doing this and he looked like he was actually having fun with the four mismatched mechs and femmes.

Despite the complaints, they **_all_** looked like they were enjoying things, too.

Ratchet was right………..Rodimus knew _nothing_ about the people he’d been travelling with for all these years. He was determined to finally change that—he was going to get to know _everyone_ on the crew. And working in the medi-bay would certainly help with that, because everyone came through there at some point, for numerous reasons. He’d do that on the bridge, too—if he was working a captain’s shift, he’d talk with the bridge crew in the quiet moments. He’d **_try _**to become a bit more social by going to karaoke night more often, with or without Megatron accompanying him—instead of _pretending_ to be the most social mech in the universe.

**_And_**……….Rodimus would have a grand opportunity to enjoy something fun with the crew by participating in this talent show in the next week. Of course, he was going to have to practice _a lot harder_ to be able to sound good with this band who already sounded amazing! So, it was time to step up—the flame-colored mech had to do justice to Megatron’s poem and Bluestreak’s song.

He _had_ to help this band win the talent show.

Rodimus of Nyon had to learn to have real, honest-and-true fun again.

The co-captain of the _Lost Light_ suddenly stood up and walked over to the band’s playing area in the corner. He grinned at them and took a place in the center, waiting for them to all start up the song from the beginning again. He focused and then sang with his Spark fully into it.

* * * * *

Rodimus was wound up when got back home to the hab suite he shared with Megatron. The older mech wasn’t yet done with his shift on the bridge yet, so the flame-colored mech took a shower in the washracks and tried to settle down. But his systems were clocking fast and he could feel his engine revving up. He was _in a good mood_ and he was excited about doing something so amazing with Whirl’s band—he loved the song and he loved the lyrics……….

_And he really loved Megatron_. It was absolutely clear that Megatron put his own feelings into that poem that Bluestreak turned into a song. It was clear that the song was _for Rodimus_—that it represented Megatron’s deep feelings for Rodimus. And just knowing **_that_** excited the flame-colored mech even more. It was **_his_** song and **_he_** got to sing it. Rodimus wanted to get a copy of the original poem from Megatron, too—to put it on the datapad with the other little poems the older mech had made for him.

_Rodimus wanted………._

“_Unnnhhh_…..” the flame-colored mech groaned, sprawling out on the berth and offlining his optics. He did a systems check and his HUD said everything was normal—so it definitely _wasn’t_ a heat-cycle or anything ridiculous like that………

It would’ve been colossally bad timing if it was **_that_**!

“_Guess………guess I’m just………really horny right now……_..” he whispered to himself. It was unlike him to be in such a state, but Megatron really got him to lower all his inner defenses with all the time they’ve been together now. If he were finally relaxed enough in a relationship to let himself become sexually vulnerable like this, maybe it meant he truly _was_ changing. All he’d ever done for centuries was build walls and not allow himself to get into such a vulnerable state. “Megatron came around and broke them all down………” he sighed, softly, smiling fondly as he thought about his sparkmate.

Rodimus rubbed his right servo lightly on his chestplating, right above his Spark and traced the ingrained edges of his Autobot brand. He could feel his Spark spin a little bit faster and his engines shifted to clock a little bit quicker now. Never before he would have thought that love would be _this intense_ and, even sometimes, a bit aggravating. Being in love and having it ignite his Spark with fiery passion was so unexpected, yet very welcome in the end. As he brushed his chestplate and felt the shape of the sort-of-flame-design on it, he remembered what he told Megatron a little over a week ago.

He _really did_ want his flames back. But this shaping on his chestplating that he had now wore had actually become a part of his frame design as well. It really was too bad that Atomizer wasn’t here anymore, _that mech_ had the greatest art and design skills ever—Atomizer would’ve been able to figure out how to leave this flame-shape on his chestplate and somehow apply a detailed flame design to it. A pang of sadness and guilt stabbed through his Spark—yeah, Atomizer sided with Getaway and was his trusted partner through the mutiny………but Getaway had also killed Atomizer in the end.

“Well now, I’m uncertain _what_ to think,” a familiar voice said as the door slid open and then shut. A soft beep meant the door had been locked. “I could feel a lot of eagerness and anticipation through our Spark-bond until I actually got to the room………what’s wrong, Rodimus?” Megatron asked, walking over to the berth and stroking the flame-colored mech’s helm fondly.

“I was kinda horny, but then thought about something that kinda made me melancholy,” Rodimus sighed, turning his faceplate in towards Megatron’s black-colored palm and nuzzled it lovingly. “Remember I said I wanted my flames back? But I kinda like this shaping on my chestplating, too—I like the way it makes my chest armour look. Then I thought Atomizer would’ve been able to come up with something…………_and then_………” the flame-colored mech sighed, keeping his optics offline for the moment, as he nuzzled Megatron’s palm.

“Yes. I see,” the older grey-colored mech murmured. He leaned down and kissed the top of Rodimus’ helm. “I’m going to go get cleaned up. Why don’t you get us some Energon and find a movie for us to watch? That’ll give you time to settle down and relax.”

“_Yeah_. Yeah, I’d like that, Megs,” Rodimus answered, his voice taking on a more cheerful tone. He felt Megatron’s presence and EM field move away and then he onlined his optics and got up from the berth. He walked over to the storage cooler and pulled out two cans of Energon and set them down on the end table by the couch. Then he strode over to the mounted wall monitor and turned it on. He grabbed the remote from the clip on the side of the monitor and went over to the couch, leaning back into it as he brought up his favorite movies in the menu options.

He tried to look for one they hadn’t watched before. Or at least hadn’t watched more than three times. He was out of movies that they hadn’t watched numerous times. Rodimus frowned and began to look through movies in other crew members’ recommendations on the movie night menu.

“You’re _still_ looking for a movie?” Megatron asked, a tone of puzzlement in his voice as he came over and sat down next to his younger lover on the couch.

“Yeah, we’ve watched everything that’s in my faves. You got a recommendation?” The flame-colored mech asked, cuddling up against Megatron’s side as they relaxed together on the couch.

“I don’t watch movies, unless they’re ones you choose,” the older mech chuckled, wrapping his arm around Rodimus’ back and rested his servo on the younger mech’s hip. “How about choosing something we’ve already watched then? Maybe the next time we head to a Galactic Alliance planet, you can look to see what kind of movies they all have, which might appeal to you, _hmmm_?” He asked.

“Yeah. I hope you don’t mind,” Rodimus chuckled. He chose a movie and they settled back to watch it.

Rodimus felt better and much more relaxed again by the time the movie was over. As the credits rolled on the movie, Megatron already started a bit of foreplay and already had Rodimus’ engines revving eagerly by the time the screen shut itself off. The flame-colored mech keened softly as Megatron’s fingers pushed and swirled around inside of his valve. Rodimus whimpered and bucked his hips against his lover’s moving servo and soon succumbed to a small overload.

“_Hey, **um**_………mind if I try something I’ve never tried before? I mean, never tried as a more willing participant over it, I guess?” Rodimus murmured, sliding off of Megatron’s lap and down to the floor, kneeling between his lover’s legs.

“You mean someone has _forced_ you to do this, Rodimus? This is _not_ something a lover forces you to do……….” Megatron growled, his sense of protectiveness and love sharpening for the flame-colored mech that had splayed his servos on the older mech’s inner thighs. Though there was a time, even not that long ago, when he had been the one to force others to do this particular sexual gratification act.

“I think we both know I was many kinds of messed up when I let myself not care what others did to me,” the younger mech sighed, lightly butting his helm into Megatron’s abdominal area. “I’m _better_ now and I _want_ to do this………’cause I love you, Megatron.”

Megatron didn’t respond with words this time, because he felt his voice might be sharper than he wanted it to be. The very last thing he wanted to do was to worry or sound angry at Rodimus—even though it wasn’t anything he was annoyed with the younger mech for. Just considering that others had hurt the flame-colored mech in interfacing made a deep pit of anger inside of him boil over. So, he just gently rubbed his large servos along the sides of Rodimus’ helm, being careful of the pointed finials, and leaned down to press light kisses to the top of the helm. The former Decepticon Leader let his field wrap around Rodimus, letting it flow with nothing but love and warmth, and a bit of desire. Rodimus’ own EM field rippled out and flowed around Megatron’s, twisting and wrapping around in their invisible patterns, but felt so strongly between the two mechs about to enjoy more foreplay and interfacing through the night.

“Fair warning though, I might suck _really bad_ at it,” Rodimus chuckled, raising a servo and rapping his knuckles on Megatron’s groinplating, right above the spike panel.

“Can one truly _‘suck’_ at **_sucking_**?” Megatron teased, letting his spike panel open and trying very hard to control the eager pressurization of his very large spike.

“You are honestly the worst, Megs……._seriously_,” Rodimus laughed, reaching up his other servo to pat lightly on his older lover’s chestplating, right above the Autobot brand in the center.

Megatron’s different-shaped spike (at least from his and the few others he’d seen in his lifetime) didn’t scare him so much anymore, but it still seriously looked quite “_weaponized_”. It was thicker at the base and tapered slightly, almost cone-like, to the blunt-pointed tip. It was meant to tear through things, so it surprised Rodimus that it didn’t do damage to his own insides—no, Megatron was very talented at making it feel very good.

_Very good, **indeed**_. Just thinking about how good Megatron made him feel during interfacing made his engine rev and his valve tighten with longing.

But for now, he wanted to give **_this_** a try, at least.

Rodimus focused and placed a servo on Megatron’s thigh, as his other servo held the black spike steady and angled upwards towards the ceiling, so he could stroke his glossa on the underside. The flame-colored mech flicked the tip of his glossa around the rootplating of the spike and pressed lightly against the rootspread of the transfluid pressure line around the rootplating. Sensors registered the playful and arousing pressure and Rodimus’ reward was a light grunt from Megatron, a stroke of the helm and an increased pulsing of the crimson biolighting on the transfluid pressure line.

It was a good start for his attempt at spike-sucking.

Rodimus licked up the length of the transfluid pressure line, from the rootspread to the sharper tip of the very hard spike. The biolighting pulsed rapidly and felt warm against his glossa as he stroked the length from root-to-tip several times, rapidly. Megatron gave a bit more than a grunt and quickly pulled his servos away from Rodimus’ helm and planted them on the couch cushions beside his frame. The older mech was afraid that he’d lose control with his strength, even as his focus began to desert him.

The flame-colored mech looked up at his lover, puzzled, and saw the head tilted back and jaw slack. Then it hit him—Megatron removed his servos from stroking him, to save him from any unintentional roughness. The oldmech was really very sweet and adorable. So, Rodimus focused back on what he was doing, determined to get an overload out of his lover, now that he saw the clear effect he was having on Megatron. And maybe he’d better try to quicken it at least a little bit, because his own frame was betraying him a lot more rapidly now. He could feel himself dripping with fresh lubricant and his calipers were drumming on nothing inside of his valve, it was making his valve clench tighter with wanting.

Rodimus brushed his lips in light kisses on the sharp tip of the large black spike before his faceplate. He could feel Megatron’s frame’s heat and his EM field with both his derma and his dermal sensor net, flooding him with tastes and sensations even more than he was merely experiencing with the act of foreplay. The flame-colored mech just hoped he could do what he wanted to do before he got overwhelmed with sensations and overloaded again. He wanted to give Megatron _some pleasure_, too, since the older mech was always giving him lots of pleasure before overloading himself.

He stroked his glossa in rapid flicks, lapping up the leaking pretransfluid on the top of the spike, then opened his mouth wide and took in the tip. He sucked on the tip, flicking the edges of his glossa around the sharp end of the interfacing organ. Megatron gave a very deep groan and his digits dug hard into the couch cushions, puncturing the one on his left-servo’s side. Rodimus moved his mouth down the increasing girth of the fully-pressurized spike and could only get about halfway down the organ before the tip jabbed lightly against the back of his intake. The deep ridges on the spike stimulated sensors in his mouth and on the surface of his glossa, sending charge zipping through his frame like lightning. So, since he couldn’t really go any further without damage—he just began to move his mouth rapidly on the thick, black spike, sucking hard as he moved and flicking his glossa all around.

Rodimus felt the arousal hit its peak in Megatron’s field right before the ejaculation of transfluid filled his mouth and gushed hotly down his throat. The flame-colored mech swallowed as quickly as he could before the thick fluid overwhelmed his intake. Then Rodimus pulled away with a sharp gasp and sat back on his pedes, incycling and exventing to control the overload that rippled through his own valve almost at the same time as Megatron’s overload.

“_Holy Primus_……….._that was_………..**_something else_**………..” Rodimus panted, reaching up to plant his servos on Megatron’s knee-joints and glanced up into his lover’s faceplate.

There was longing there—as well as something else very primal and very feral in his older lover’s gaze. The faded crimson of the optic glass glowed intensely as Megatron’s gaze met his, optics beneath cycled wide-open with focus.

“It **_was_**. And I’m afraid you really aroused a lot more in me at the moment, Rodimus,” Megatron said, softly, his deep voice nearly a primal growl. “Is it _too much_ to ask for that right now, or should I go to the washrack and take care of it myself?” He asked.

Rodimus smiled and patted Megatron’s knee-joints fondly. “I think my valve would enjoy something filling it,” he chuckled, his blue optic glass glowing brightly with arousal. He got to his pedes and started to walk over to the berth, when Megatron came up immediately behind him and hugged him tightly, pressing his frame hard against his younger lover’s. “_Oh man, **yeah**_……..” the flame-colored mech moaned as his lover’s spike nudged and pressed against the lips of his dripping valve. “_Oh frag, oh frag, **oh frag**_……….” he groaned as the larger frame pushed his against the edge of the berth a little bit roughly and began rapidly thrusting.

Megatron’s large, deeply-ridged spike rubbed rapidly against Rodimus’ valve lips. The flame-colored mech whimpered with want and arousal. It was a little rough, but nothing he’d be unable to handle. He just hoped when Megatron regained his senses, the oldmech wouldn’t be too hard on himself for being a little rough. “_Want_” and “_lust_” rippled through both of their fields, swirling and mixing, driving their arousal charges even higher. Rodimus’ own spike-panel snapped open and his hard spike began rubbing hard against the edge of the berth, where there was the corner of their thick blanket hanging. The sensations of the cloth, and the edge of the berth beneath it, against the ridges of his own spike and the sensitive tip leaking with pretransfluid all mixed up with the sensations of their fields and the thick spike thrusting against the lips of his valve.

Megatron’s lips rubbed the edges of the sunbright yellow spoiler fin and he nibbled lightly on it. He reached down with his left servo and grabbed Rodimus’ thigh, pulling up the leg and sliding the palm of his servo into the backside of his younger lover’s knee-joint. The new position spread Rodimus’ valve lips wide and the older mech’s spike became drenched in lubricant as he slowed down his thrusts and began angling a little bit, so that his next few thrusts would get his spike buried in that gloriously tight and familiar valve.

Rodimus gave a soft keening sound and his back arched, the back of his helm hitting the top of Megatron’s helm with a clunk. He was overwhelmed with all sensations, both through their EM fields, their frames as close and nearly merged as they were, and everything else getting absorbed by his dermal sensor net. It was a novastorm of tastes and scents and touch, Rodimus whimpered and mewled and went to the tip of his right pede, just barely having any balance left whatsoever—only being supported by Megatron’s grip of his left leg and being thrust against the berth in front of him.

Megatron had him, he would never let Rodimus fall—except maybe only into ecstasy. Which was rapidly reached when the thick spike rubbing his valve lips finally thrust deep inside. Neither of them felt the interfacing as individuals, they were practically as one when overload consumed them both and multicolored lightning zipped all around their merged frames.

* * * * *

The actual day of the talent show in Swerve’s establishment was packed. Swerve actually had to limit the number of people **_IN_** the bar itself and “_rented out_” a few other rooms in the nearby area (which weren’t being used anyways) for talent prep rooms, as well as having CCTV of the contestants for anyone who couldn’t actually fit in the bar, but still wanted to see it.

The talent show turned out to be a much bigger draw than Swerve had anticipated.

Or maybe, like Whirl, they were into free drinks for the winner………..at least for the competitors side of things. It was very interesting to see the spectator turnouts as well. Many wound up having to ask for the CCTV to be fed to their hab suites, as even the overflow rooms had been _filled to capacity_. At that point, Ultra Magnus mandated a minimal charge for CCTV of the talent show to be fed to individual hab suites—only because he anticipated all the monitor lines were going to be full the night of the talent show. **_Welcome to Earth-style Pay-Per-View, Cybertronians!_** He sincerely hoped there would be absolutely no emergencies and no communications from the Galactic Alliance for the evening on board the ship………….

Swerve had allotted about four hours for the whole thing—three for the performances and then an hour while the judges chose the winner(s). Swerve, himself, was _not_ judging—for this, he found three completely impartial judges. He had a rough time looking for people who didn’t have any emotional ties to the participants of the talent show. And even though he had one who some might think would be favorable to a particular few, it was widely believed Ratchet would be extremely opinionated, regardless of how he personally felt towards any of the contests.

So, Ratchet would the honest and outspoken judge. Tailgate was chosen, because he actually loved everyone, so he wouldn’t be excessively favorable towards anyone in particular—especially as Cyclonus wasn’t actually participating (even if his band was)—so, he was the enthusiastic judge. The last one was Chromedome—who knew the best and worst of many people and could judge a performance honestly, based on the actual enthusiasm of the contestants. He would be the strict rule judge of the performances, to judge if the participants followed the idea of what their performance was meant to be—even if there were a few flubs or stage-fright.

The performances and variety ran a fairly wide spectrum. There were, indeed, several singing individuals or groups—it was the most popular type of talent to exploit. There were some performance readings, of both poetry and of small scenes from popular holovids or play-performances. There were tricks—such as attempts at “_magic_” tricks, as well as simple things like juggling. There were a few comedy routine performances, as well. This meant the things the judges were judging upon had to be condensed down to similar generalities of performance.

Such as…….how into the performance they were. How much they applied themselves to their talent. How the intensity compared to others. All sorts of things like that. 

The talent competition was fun and there were a lot of really great people taking their turn at the stage and displaying talents—some that others of the crew knew about and others that completely took everyone by complete surprise. The audience was also very much into it. Cheering raucously for individuals or performances—or in ordering more Engex if they were in the bar itself (or in one of the designated satellite rooms).

Swerve got an outstanding amount of business this night, that was for certain.

“And next up, we have _Grave Revelations_—with a special guest vocalist for the evening!” Blaster announced as Whirl’s band took the stage and began their preparations for performance (getting their instruments ready and waiting for the special lighting they’d asked for).

The bar went dark and all anyone could see were dozens of optics glowing dimly as they focused on the stage. Clearly the band on-stage had offlined their optics to leave everything in the dark until it was time to start.

The keyboard began a soft sequence of notes, while the guitars strummed softly, and then Rodimus’ voice began in something near a whisper into the microphone.

“_You saw my tears, in a room all but dark…….you leaned over to kiss me and made me wonder whhhhhhyyyyyyyyyy!!!_” Rodimus sang, soft at the start, but by the end of the lyric—his voice rang out, the stage lights flashed in many colors and the band began the pulse-pounding rhythm of the song.

The audience went silent with surprise and captivation as the flame-colored mech motioned with the arm not holding a microphone and began to move back-and-forth across the stage.

“_It was just a long, long day!_” The young Autobot sang, pacing the stage and throwing himself into the song. “_We spent it together and then I told you to go your own way! You and I, so far apart in our desires! But somehow, together, we found something and made it ours!_” 

Rodimus dashed and pounced and swung about, flinging his arm around as he sang, all of his Spark into it. The lights flashed and a lighter strobe followed his movements on the stage, while other lighter strobes highlighted the band members as their instruments became more powerful throughout the pace of the song. The audience began clapping their servos in rhythm with the song, or tapping their feet (or the tables).

“_And then, in the end_………..” Rodimus sang in a quieter voice, coming to the end of the song, as the band slowed the song and made it softer. “_You and I, wondering why……..we found ourselves thrown together, finally by choice, now and forever!!!_”

Then the song pace increased and Rodimus made some short vocalizations to close out the song, as the lights dimmed and he stepped back near the band. The normal bar lights came on and the crowd went wild, cheering and demanding more.

But it wasn’t a concert and there were still more acts for the talent night, so Rodimus and _Grave Revelations_ had to leave the stage and make way for the next act. Eventually, late into the evening—actually, somewhere into early on the next day (as the time periods of the ship’s hours went)—the acts finally came to an end and the judges took their time to discuss their decisions.

Chromedome took the main speaking role for the judges panel—as Ratchet wasn’t the chatty type and Tailgate would be overly chatty in presentations. 

“In third place, we chose Grimlock for his sword art display,” the brown-and-red mech began. “His Spark was very in it—he clearly practiced hard for the display and I could see where he possibly got tips from some of our other more famous sword-wielders on the ship.”

“For someone of Grimlock’s bulk and weight—and knowing the skills he had in ages long past—this has been refreshing to see,” Ratchet added, his deep and serious voice. “It shows a lot of devotion to something that he’s come to enjoy and that’s what this talent show has been about—how much personal enjoyment and interest you have in your act.”

“_Plus, it was pretty amazingly cool!_” Tailgate chimed in, cheerfully.

Chromedome nodded at his fellow judges and then took the next datapad and looked out over the audience in the bar, from the stage. “In second place, we chose the band _Grave Revelations_ for their very energetic performance. Rodimus has a very good voice for singing and he gave the song a very definitive tone. The skills of the band members show that they’ve worked together for quite some time now, but Rodimus is trying to mesh in someone else’s band and that mesh wasn’t fully complete,” the former police officer responded, nodding. “But he gave it his all and that’s what we were looking for. If they could’ve had maybe one more week to practice the song together—I’m certain they could have claimed first place,” he added with a warm tone in his voice.

“It’s true, we all came to that decision on things,” Tailgate added with a shrug.

“There’s no denying the emotional power in that song—I think the writer deserves a bit of credit, as well as the songwriter for adapting those lyrics into music,” Ratchet grunted. “It was a great effort by everyone involved.”

“So, that brings us to our winners,” Chromedome chuckled, tapping the datapad against his palm. “Probably most everyone in the room won’t be expecting it, but this act gave it _everything_ they had. You could tell by their performance in comparison to their general daily attitudes. We chose for the winning act, the comedy duo of Gears and Crankcase!” The brown-and-red mech announced, loudly.

There was a very strange pause from the audience as it all sank in. Then there was a lot of laughter as well as applause.

“Frankly, I’ve never heard such delivery of any comedy act—I couldn’t help but have my optics glued to it the whole time,” Ratchet added his own comments, giving a wry smile. “The skits and the jokes were extremely well-prepared and they worked extra-hard on those proper deliveries. I’m not certain anybody else could pull off the performance that they did.”

“_They were hilarious!_” Tailgate laughed.

In a corner of the bar, Rodimus gave a wry smile and clapped a servo on Whirl’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Whirl—I really _did_ give it everything. Ratchet’s right though, I think I could’ve done a lot better if I’d had another week to practice,” he said with a sigh.

“Well, I suppose what’s done is done. However, I expect a _special favor_ from you, Rodders—since you didn’t get me my free Engex,” the former Wrecker said, focusing his singular optic strobe on the flame-colored mech. “We’re gonna **_record_** that song properly on an album. So, I’m gonna need to borrow you a bit more to get a winning studio session out of this.”

Rodimus laughed softly. He couldn’t say “_no_” to Whirl on that—even though they didn’t win, the performance got a lot of kudos from the audience. The song and the performance showed that it was worth it to Whirl to get a recording session out of this for his band and any future profits. And the flame-colored mech thought it might be really nice to have some permanent remembrance for the song and for the future.

“Okay, I’ll do it—**_if _**I get a discount off the purchase of the album or if you release it as a single,” the young Autobot chuckled, grinning at the crazy mech fondly. Then he thanked the band members for a fun time and went off to look for Megatron.

The older grey-colored mech was waiting for him out in the corridors. There were also a lot of people lingering around, chatting about the talent show—debating winners and losers and who they liked the best. It seemed like everyone really had enjoyed it though—so, Swerve really hit upon something good this time! Rodimus slipped his yellow servo into Megatron’s larger black one and tugged him along to get them moving back to their hab suite.

“Your singing was very impressive, but I do understand what Ratchet said about your _‘mesh’_ with the band. I’m sorry you didn’t win, though,” Megatron said, his voice had a tone of fondness in it as he squeezed his younger lover’s servo.

“_Eh_. I get it, too. Besides, Crankcase and Gears **_were_** pretty awesome. They’ve both got that cranky oldmech vibe going—and their tones, Gears always so dour and Crankcase with his single, even tone_……….it **just**_! Yeah, unexpected comedy hit, those two,” Rodimus laughed, moving closer and wrapping his arms around Megatron’s arm completely. “I got to sing your poem and I loved doing it. It really is the only reason I actually did it. And that I need to get out and interact with people more.”

The two of them were soon back at their hab suite and when they walked in, Rodimus stretched and gave a parody of a yawn. Megatron chuckled and rubbed his younger lover’s helm very fondly, earning him a very happy grin from the flame-colored mech.

“Hey Megs—remember that bear-guy we talked to, King? He said that there was a planet that did racing?” Rodimus said, looking up at Megatron.

“Yes, I remember,” the older grey-colored mech responded, smiling down at him.

“Well, I got to thinking. If this Auocap is a racing hub and all, they’d have decal detaillists there. Maybe one of them could figure out how to make flames work on my frame and I can keep this chestplate-shape?” The young flame-colored mech mused, walking over to the berth and hopping up on it. “So, the next time we have shore leave, I’d like to recommend this system with Auocap in it—the Galactic Alliance gave us a map, so we could find it there and find out what other planets are in the system that others may want to take shore leave on. Have we cemented down the de-con procedures yet?” He asked, looking down into Megatron’s optics as the mech leaned against the berth and stretched his frame in a relaxed manner.

“Yes. According to First Aid, they were going to reconstruct a portion of the shuttle bay into a de-con facility………..everyone leaving the ship would have to stop by for a de-con scan before returning to the main interior of the ship,” the older mech answered, straightening up and leaning his forehead up against Rodimus’ with warmth and fondess.

“If we can prevent a viral outbreak again, let’s do that,” Rodimus chuckled, sliding his servos on the sides of Megatron’s helm. “Right now—I think I’m ready for recharge. I’ve had a long day and I spent all my energy on the talent show.”

Megatron chuckled, climbing up onto the berth. They adjusted their frames and Megatron pulled the blanket up over them. They cuddled close, Rodimus snuggling against the bulkier mech rather contentedly, then they both relaxed and went into recharge. Their systems hummed and then synchronized as they softened and slowed.


End file.
